“The burden of those engaged in the case is very heavy, and I think it only right that the Treasury should have an opportunity between this and another session of considering the mode in which the case should be presented, if indeed it is presented at all.”

Mr. Gill immediately rose to the challenge.

“The case will certainly be tried again,” he declared, “whether it is to be tried again at once or in the next sessions will be a matter of convenience.  Probably the most desirable course will be for the case to go to the next sessions.  That is the usual course.”

Mr. Justice Charles:  “If that is the usual course, let it be so.”

The next session of the Central Criminal Court opened on the 20th of the same month.

Not three weeks’ respite, still it might be enough:  it was inconceivable that a Judge in Chambers would refuse to accept bail:  fortunately the law allows him no option.

* * * * *

The application for bail was made in due course to a Judge in Chambers, and in spite of the bad example of the magistrate, and of Mr. Justice Charles, it was granted and Wilde was set free in his own recognizance of L2,500 with two other sureties for L1,250 each.  It spoke volumes for the charm and fascination of the man that people were found to undertake this onerous responsibility.  Their names deserve to be recorded; one was Lord Douglas of Hawick, the other a clergyman, the Rev. Stewart Headlam.  I offered to be one bail:  but I was not a householder at the time and my name was, therefore, not acceptable.  I suppose the Treasury objected, which shows, I am inclined to think, some glimmering of sense on its part.

As soon as the bail was accepted I began to think of preparations for Oscar’s escape.  It was high time something was done to save him from the wolves.  The day after his release a London morning journal was not ashamed to publish what it declared was a correct analysis of the voting of the jury on the various counts.  According to this authority, ten jurors were generally for conviction and two against, in the case of Wilde; the statement was widely accepted because it added that the voting was more favourable to Taylor than to Wilde, which was so unexpected and so senseless that it carried with it a certain plausibility:  Credo quia incredible.

I had seen enough of English justice and English judges and English journals to convince me that Oscar Wilde had no more chance of a fair trial than if he had been an Irish “Invincible.”  Everyone had made up his mind and would not even listen to reason:  he was practically certain to be convicted, and if convicted perfectly certain to be punished with savage ferocity.  The judge would probably think he was showing impartiality by punishing him for his qualities of charm and high intelligence.  For the first time in my life I understood the full significance of Montaigne’s confession that if he were accused of stealing the towers of Notre Dame, he would fly the kingdom rather than risk a trial, and Montaigne was a lawyer.  I set to work at once to complete my preparations.